


The Magnus Settlement

by eatbrains (become_android)



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, And Asexual Tim, Body Horror, Canon Asexual Character, Eventual S1 Polycule, F/F, F/M, Horror, I will be adding tags and relationships as they come, M/M, Mind Control, Multi, Office Party, Office drama, Psychological Horror, Screenplay/Script Format, Survival Horror, Your typical office comedy until it isn't <3, Zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:41:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26255074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/become_android/pseuds/eatbrains
Summary: In 2020, the world was overrun with a virus that turned our fellow man into rotting, flesh-eating monsters. And not long after that, statements began accumulating. Fourteen years later, and Jonathan Sims attempts to record and catalogue the neglected collection in his new role as Head Archivist with the assistance of his archival assistants. But as darker secrets are revealed about this new world, can Jon and his coworkers survive?~~Next Update Scheduled: October 12th, 2020
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Sasha James/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Sasha James/Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker, Sasha James/Tim Stoker
Comments: 9
Kudos: 17





	1. Sustenance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Statement of Sylvia Wick, regarding the death of her baby brother in the first year of the Outbreak. Original statement given August 31, 2029. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Settlement.  
> ~~~  
> Trigger Warnings: Cannibalism, Death, Zombies, Infant Death, Child Death Mentioned, Grave-robbing, Corpse Eating Mentioned

**ARCHIVIST**

Test… Test… Test… 1, 2, 3… Right.

<<COUGH>>

My name is Jonathan Sims. I work for the Magnus settlement, a small township and trading post located several miles outside the ruins formerly known as London. The leader of Magnus, Elias Bouchard, gave me this job after Gertrude Robinson, the former Head Archivist… 

My role now as the new Head Archivist is to record and organize statements from any visitors willing to recount their experiences of this new world. How it corrupted, how it grew. There are statements here dating back to-- why there are some that date a week after the first cases. From out of my office’s interior window, I can see the boxes filled to the brim with papers, the cardboard of them bulging from the strain. But none of them have been organized and as there are no official psychiatrists at any settlements yet, new statements keep streaming in. 

And since no one has figured out how to turn a power grid back on, what, fourteen years after the world “ended”, the only means to digitize these files are on the tape recorders that Gertrude left behind. I understand that she was getting up there in age and that she had no real help in this place, but really--

<<SIGHS>>

I have managed to acquire two-- no, three assistants. Tim and Sasha have both held similar research jobs in other settlements while Martin, he-- Well, calling him incompetent would be a light sentence. They are doing the best they can organizing, and they try to record statements when they can but I can make no promises on how quickly we can get this mess sorted. So for future researchers and the next archivist, I apologize in advance.

Anyway, that’s enough excuses. I’m going to go ahead and start.

Statement of Sylvia Wick, regarding the death of her baby brother in the first year of the Outbreak. Original statement given August 31, 2029. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Settlement.

Statement begins.

* * *

**ARCHIVIST (STATEMENT)**

Most folk don’t talk about their first year during the Outbreak. I sure as Hell don’t, but something big has happened that has really rekindled those memories in me. My babysitter finally died. Well, I’m not quite sure if babysitter is the right word for Marie. She ran a small daycare, no more than nine kids at a time. The school bus dropped me off at her house and I would spend hours sitting at her kitchen table drawing pictures of horses while all the younger children screamed and ran around me. I think Marie always had a fond spot for me because she always made sure to buy the really nice colored pencils for me to draw with while everyone else had to use the ones you would get from the dollar store.

She was more than happy to take on my little brother, Ronnie, when he was born. I never saw the appeal of babies. I mean, maybe it was ‘cause I was ten and kind of a punk, but they always seemed like such a hassle. But Marie fell in love with Ronnie. Even when he cried or he dirtied her favorite blanket, she would just smile and place a kiss on his head.

When London first became overrun, I was drawing pictures of horses again while Marie watched the news from the living room, bouncing a year-old Ronnie on her knee. Carrie and Garson were the only other kids there; the others didn’t stay after five o’clock unlike us four. They were five and six respectively and didn’t understand what was going on. I suppose I didn’t either. She made us help her board up the windows and gather all the possible weapons and put the food in one place and-- well, she made us prep.

I’m not going to bore you with specifics on how we managed to survive in that house that long with what little supplies we had in the home and what little Marie could scavenge from the infested wreckage, but eventually we ran out of food, like most who stay in the cities do. So she had us grab what few things we had and we marched on to the next city and the next city and the next city. But there was no food. Plenty of zombies, but not a single morsel of food.

I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how painful it is to starve to death. But there are people alive today who have never experienced it. That’s how far we’ve come since that first year of the Outbreak. The first hunger pangs are horrendous, making you keel over in agony, but they eventually subside after the first couple weeks. But they do return, and every new wave adds even worse tears and twists to the gut. Moving becomes an unbearable and exhausting task, but the memory of Carrie and Garson’s slow deaths at the jaws of those rotting monsters were enough to keep us heading towards an undefined end goal.

I fell over while we were walking and couldn’t get up. My voice was stagnant when I told Marie, so she readjusted Ronnie to her back and scooped me into her arms, slowly shuffling into the woods beside the highway. I don’t remember how I spent that day. I think I just laid on the pine needle-covered ground and drifted in and out of a painful slumber. At some point the night came. My eyes blinked open after a particularly vivid stomach cramp, and across from the fire sat Marie, cradling Ronnie in her arms. 

During the endless journey, Ronniewas always the first one to get whatever bit of food Marie managed to find. One instance she had snatched a large roach from an abandoned mall’s grimy floors, and she had shoved into Ronnie’s mouth before he could complain. He began to spit it back out, but one of Marie’s hands clasped his mouth shut while the other forced his jaws to chew. The tears dripped down his gaunt cheeks and envy filled my belly that he even had the energy still to cry.

Marie stood up with Ronnie and walked away from our camp, cooing and bouncing him as she walked deeper into the woods. I tried to get up to follow, but I was too weak and… I passed out. When I woke up it was to the scent of flesh cooking. A pot sat over the fire, and Marie seemed to be stirring some kind of soup. Well, it was really just meat and water, not even any seasonings, but the smell. My God, the _smell_. If I could cry I would have.

“What’s this meat?” I asked as she placed a bowl of the steaming hot soup onto the ground beside me. “Where is Ronnie?”

Marie’s eyes rose to meet mine, and she didn’t smile as she said, “Is there no greater gift than the gift of sustenance, Sylvia?”

And with that she scooped a spoon of the soup and blew the steam off, raising it to my lips to eat. I want to say that I refused to eat it or that I found my brother laying somewhere in the woods napping. But I finished my bowl, and another, and another; the pot was completely empty in less than an hour. 

Marie died about a week ago. And as I stood over her grave, I felt nothing but… gratitude for her.

* * *

**ARCHIVIST**

(exhaling) Statement ends. Wasn’t much followup I could do on this one. Sasha was able to acquire the work log and housing document for the year that Sylvia Wick apparently was living in Magnus. She lived with Marie the last year of her life, being her primary caretaker as the cancer overtook her body. Sylvia apparently left a day after the funeral without turning her housing back over to the Magnus Township Commission or telling anyone where she was heading. No other local settlements have reported her living with them. End record--

<<DOOR OPENS>>

**MARTIN**

Jon, I’ve--

**ARCHIVIST**

( _overlapping_ ) **Martin** , I’ve told you a dozen times that when the sign outside my door says “RECORDING IN PROGRESS”---

**MARTIN**

That a recording is in progress.

**ARCHIVIST**

And?

**MARTIN**

And that I’m not supposed to interrupt.

**ARCHIVIST**

Yes, exactly.

**MARTIN**

( _rather hurried_ ) It’s just that I’ve got a tea here for you and I wanted to make sure you got it when it was still hot because-- I mean-- there’s nothing worse than a lukewarm tea and, well. Yeah. I’ll just.

<<CUP BEING SET DOWN>>

**MARTIN (CONT’D)**

Leave it here for you. ( _beat)_ Is that Sylvia’s statement? The woman who cared for Marie Winters?

**ARCHIVIST**

I-- yes. Sasha did that research for this, not you.

**MARTIN**

Oh, yeah, but it’s just-- I mean everybody knows about her. How she dug up Marie and ate her--

**ARCHIVIST**

Allegedly. ( _beat_ ) I wasn’t planning on putting that in the statement because there’s no real evidence that she did it. 

**MARTIN**

“Wasn’t planning”?

**ARCHIVIST**

Well, you interrupted before I could finish.

**MARTIN**

Oh! Oh, right! Sorry, sorry. I’ll leave now. Enjoy the tea.

**ARCHIVIST**

( _low, acknowledging) Mm._

<<DOOR CLOSES>>

**ARCHIVIST (CONT’D)**

I didn’t mention that Marie’s grave was found dug up the morning after her funeral and that her corpse was missing because I didn’t see the relevance. Apparently when Marie died, she had quite the collection of jewelry buried with her. The likelihood that it was grave-robbers and not Sylvia who dug up that grave is a much more likely story than whatever gossip spreads around the office. 

[HE SIGHS]

**ARCHIVIST (CONT’D)**

End recording.

<<TAPE CLICKS OFF>>


	2. Chuck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Statement of Sung-ho Shim, regarding a horse he had three years after the Outbreak. Original statement given December 15, 2024. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Settlement.
> 
> ~~~
> 
> Trigger Warnings: Animal Death Mentioned, Zombies, Consumption of Living People, Slight Body Horror

**ARCHIVIST**

Statement of Sung-ho Shim, regarding a horse he had three years after the Outbreak. Original statement given December 15, 2024. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Settlement.

Statement begins.

* * *

**ARCHIVIST (STATEMENT)**

You know, when this whole zombie thing started, the first thing I worried about were the animals. Humanity has been on a downward spiral ever since the first person decided charity wasn’t good enough, that in order to get things like food and shelter we needed to provide something too. Animals, simply put, don’t believe in capitalism.

I had Seoltang for the first few years of the apocalypse. She was one of the _many_ cats that people had just left the door open for once the world “ended”, but what people don’t realize is that zombies are just as happy to hunt down and eat your favorite pet as they are actual humans. And Seoltang would have been easier to catch since she was blind and frequently sick, but I picked her up before any zombies could.

Whatever disease wrecked her immune system eventually caught up to her. If I had access to a vet then she probably would have lived a lot longer, but--well-- not many people were willing to be helpful those first few years. Ended up burying her under an old chestnut tree and marking her grave with a smooth, gray stone. Hope nobody saw that and dug her up to eat. All terms of polite society went really out the window those first few years.

After waiting an appropriate amount of time, I decided I needed to get another companion. If you didn’t have some kind of support system you were bound to go mad. Humans were out of the question since they always ended up stabbing you in the back, so some kind of animal was what I needed. Whenever I came across a dog or a cat, I tried to entice them with whatever food I had to no avail. Nothing seemed to want to get near.

I was getting rather beat up about it. Was I trying too hard? Was I not trying hard enough? Maybe if I approached them this way or this other way it’d work. And when that didn’t work I would spend the next hours walking and wondering why I kept failing. Of course, after everything, I understand why they were afraid. All the stores had been completely scavenged of every possible morsel. Years after being man’s best friend, our pets were becoming our food. And realizing you’re just… meat to some other creature, well, it’s no circus.

Chuck’s seller never gave his name. He was an odd man. Despite the summer heat, he wore a large trench coat and the hand I could see of his wore a thick, woolen mitten. Before I could utter a greeting, he said, “What will you give for Chuck?”

And, well, Chuck was a magnificent steed. There were some folks I’d seen from a distance who had horses, but they had been scrawny and had bowed backs. This horse had muscles that rippled under its almost red fur, and its mane was cropped neatly short along its towering neck. On its soot-black hooves were fine steel horseshoes with “CHUCK” carved into them. Its eyes were large and unblinking, and they fixed on me with a ferocity like none other.

Obviously I had to have it; a companion and a means of transport seemed like such a package deal. I offered what I had-- some canned provisions, a spare handgun with bullets in it, and a couple bottles of brandy. Chuck’s owner nodded, took my offerings, and handed me Chuck’s reins. Then I-- I reached up and laid a hand on Chuck’s wide neck.

I’m not quite sure how to describe the exact sensation. It was like-- you know what oxtail is right? The cut of a veal’s tail with the tough meat surrounding a tail bone? Well, Chuck felt like the bone marrow of oxtail. It’s solid, but it gives way a little when pressed. It’s hard but it’s also… spongy. Not quite bone, but not quite flesh. 

Of course I recoiled at the feeling. I turned to tell that salesman that I wanted to give Chuck back, but he had vanished, seemingly out of thin air. Letting go of the reins and walking away didn’t seem to keep the horse away from me. I ran all the way across town, certain that Chuck wasn’t following, but as soon as I turned a corner there it stood, waiting expectantly. Whether I liked it or not, Chuck was tethered to me.

Chuck didn’t eat any of the food I offered to it. It didn’t seem to have an appetite for anything. One day we were in some new town and suddenly we were completely surrounded by zombies. I couldn’t seem to navigate us out and I was ready to give up when I felt Chuck’s gaze on me. I looked into that beast’s unwavering, coal eyes and knew what I had to do. I placed a finger, my right pinky, in its mouth, feeling the bones crunch and snap off as Chuck took a bite. When I removed my hand, that little finger was gone. It had eaten it as easily as you would a baby carrot. Then I was on Chuck’s back, and it leapt over the zombies and galloped away from the town.

At first, I only rode Chuck when we were in absolute danger. I didn’t want to be its meal, but sometimes I had no choice. Soon I wasn’t the one dictating when I rode on it. We would be walking along and I would feel its gaze turn on me, and the next thing I knew I would be on that horse, missing some appendage. Chuck had eaten all of my right arm up to the shoulder, half of the fingers on my left hand, and both my ears when I found Sagwa.

He was a scrawny pup who came right up to Chuck and I, leaning right against me and looking up to me with the sweetest, dark brown eyes. I wanted to help the poor creature, but I could feel Chuck beginning to turn its eyes on me, demanding I be meat yet again. 

In that same town I found some sorry soul wandering all alone. Before approaching her, I made sure to put on a heavy coat, a mitten, and a thick beanie to hide what I had given that horse to eat. Her eyes widened when she saw how splendorous Chuck was, and, well, it is splendorous when you don’t recognize the dry blood caking its teeth. As she approached, she opened her mouth to speak, but I interrupted with, “What will you give for Chuck?” Then I took everything she offered, handed her the reins, and left with Sagwa trailing happily behind me. 

I don’t care if Chuck ate that woman. I don’t care if she gave that damn horse to someone else to eat. All I care about is the fact that Sagwa has stayed by my side these fourteen years since he broke me out of Chuck’s trance, and for that I owe him my life. But I know that, unlike Chuck, Sagwa will never ask for it.

* * *

**ARCHIVIST**

Statement ends. Really one of the most ridiculous statements in here. Sung-ho currently lives in Magnus with his pet dog Sagwa, but refuses to give another statement though he stands by what he said in the original. Tim confirmed on his check-in that the missing body parts are actually missing. Only logical explanation is that Sung-ho here went a little mad being so lonely after his cat passed away. If it's true at all that the horse ate parts of him, it’s probably because he wasn’t providing any actual food for it. I’m rather glad someone else is in possession of it now. This woman hopefully gives the sorry creature apples rather than her own fingers. End recording.

<<DOOR OPENS>>

**SASHA**

You’re finished recording, right, Jon?

**ARCHIVIST**

Oh, yes. You’re very good at timing, you know that?

<<DOOR CLOSES>>

**SASHA**

Oh, I try! ( _energetically_ ) I just heard from Rosie that Elias is getting a generator.

**ARCHIVIST**

( _slowly_ ) About that…

**SASHA**

( _hesitantly_ ) What did you hear?   
  


**ARCHIVIST**

She told me about that too, but when I asked Elias he said it was for “personal use” and that we should still use the tape recorders until “resources can be moved around”.

**SASHA**

I feel like he’s trying to make only _our_ work more difficult. I don’t hear the housing department complaining about him like we do.

**ARCHIVIST**

( _sternly_ ) Maybe Helen doesn’t want to complain about the man that keeps all this running. ( _beat, then in a kinder voice_ ) I do get your point. If you, or the others for that matter, ever need anything to help-- to help lighten the load, let me know. Every request for resources to Elias has fallen on deaf ears, but that doesn’t mean I can’t go looking for some things. 

**SASHA**

Thanks, Jon. ( _beat_ ) You know, that goes for you too.

**ARCHIVIST**

Sasha, you don’t have to--

**SASHA**

( _almost scolding_ ) Jon. Me and the guys are more than happy to help. If you need one of us to get some special kind of archiving thing or track some statement giver down or anything, we’re here.

**ARCHIVIST**

Thank you, Sasha, but I think I’m quite alright.

<<SASHA HUMS IN DISAPPROVAL, BUT SHE SAYS NOTHING MORE>>

<<DOOR OPENS AND CLOSES>>

**ARCHIVIST (CONT’D)**

Should have asked her to bring me a tea, but-- Well, I see Martin’s just come back from his lunch. I’ll just tell him to make one.

<<CHAIR SCRAPES, AND FOOTSTEPS QUICKLY RECEDE BEFORE COMING BACK>>

**ARCHIVIST (CONT'D)  
**

Almost forgot to turn this thing off.

<<RECORDER CLICKS OFF>>


	3. The Anatomy Book

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Statement of Apoorva Murari, regarding an anatomy book she possessed during the first year of the Outbreak. Original statement given March 14, 2020. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Settlement.
> 
> ~~~
> 
> Trigger Warnings:  
> Swearing, funeral homes, zombies, extreme body horror, eyes

**TIM**

C’mon, Jon, you have _got_ to get that stick out of your ass!

**MARTIN**

Tim…

**ARCHIVIST**

( _overlapping_ ) Tim… ( _beat_ ) It just seems unprofessional.

**TIM**

Oh, do you think if you say yes we’re going to go crying to Elias? ( _faking crying_ ) Oh, Elias, Elias! Jon actually had fun with us for once! Fire him! ( _normal voice_ ) It’s just drinks!

**SASHA**

You’ve been doing a lot lately, it’d be good to unwind a little.

**TIM**

Plus, _plus_! We could probably get the costs written off by claiming it's a team building activity. I mean, how can we work together harmoniously if we can’t even get drunk together?

**ARCHIVIST**

I don’t think Elias would approve that paperwork. ( _beat, before hesitantly_ ) If I say yes, will you leave me so I can finally start recording a statement?

**SASHA**

Only if you promise to actually meet us there as soon as you finish.

**ARCHIVIST**

I promise.

<<TIM CHEERS, SASHA LAUGHS, THEN FOOTSTEPS RECEDE AND A DOOR CLOSES>>

<<THE ARCHIVIST SIGHS BEFORE SHUFFLING SOME PAPERS>>

**ARCHIVIST**

Statement of Apoorva Murari, regarding an anatomy book she possessed during the first year of the Outbreak. Original statement given March 14, 2020. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Settlement.

Statement begins.

* * *

**ARCHIVIST (STATEMENT)**

I was working at a funeral home when the first wave of the Outbreak hit. The radio was playing, and all I could do was listen in horror as the radio host’s sound studio was broken into and he was eaten alive by those newly made zombies. From the reports independent broadcasters sent out before they were eaten, it seemed like the zombies were incredibly fast. And, well, I’m not exactly what someone would label “athletic” and I knew that we had plenty of food stocked up for any wakes that happened at our facility, so I just… stayed in that building with all those empty caskets that would never be filled.

Despite being close to London’s city center, I didn’t see a zombie for the first couple months of the Outbreak. I stayed in the basement which had a locked iron door keeping any unwanted visitors away. Passed the time alone down there setting up arrangements for when the emergency generator finally died, and when it did, I started reading through the old medical textbooks I kept on the dustier parts of my bookshelves with my flashlight.

I know it's odd to be the type of person to collect medical books, but it was who I was, y’know? Most of the books were just boring and outdated pieces of tripe; some still talked about bloodletting and draining your humors as if that was actually a viable medical option. Then I got to the dustiest book I had on my shelf: _Anatomia humani corporis_ or _Anatomy of the Human Body_ if you don’t understand Latin. It was bound in thick, brown leather with the title neatly printed on it in a red text, and on the inside was a stamp marking it as belonging to the library of Jurgen Leitner.

I can’t remember when I originally bought it or why I had never seen it on my shelf before, but there it was. Viewing its contents was an experience unlike any other. Most medical books display their split cross sections of bodies in an almost perfect suspension. In them the skeletons or muscled bodies stood perfectly still for the reader to study. 

This book was different, drastically different. The drawings they seemed-- they seemed _alive_ like, like they could walk right off the page if they chose so. The skeletons danced, the woman whose skin was peeled off her back to display the musculature patiently clasped her hands behind her, even the dissected infant clutched at the fabric of a lab coat as if to soothe herself. But there was one drawing that kept coming back to haunt me.

When I first saw It, I was so disgusted that I slammed the book shut and closed my eyes in an attempt to banish it from my memory. It wasn’t the worst one in the book, there were dozens of more upsetting scenes, but there was something about that drawing. It made my stomach lurch. It was a drawing of a man, his head tipped back and his eyes closed, but the skin covering his cheek and lips had been pulled to the sides, almost like how a butterfly spreads its wings once emerged from the chrysalis. Inside his giant tongue lay flat on the bottom of his mouth, and I could see all the way to the back of his throat.

A week later I opened the book again. I didn’t want to see the drawing again, but I was getting so bored reading through material that I had read a dozen times. The only thing that was new to me was _Anatomia humani corporis_. When I opened it, it opened to the exact page I had left off. There was something off about it, other than the familiar horror and disgust the image gave off. I couldn’t tell what at first-- then I realized that the flayed man’s eyes were now open just a sliver. The initial shock subsided as I comforted myself with the lie that I just hadn’t noticed his eyes enough. I got to reading and the material actually was really informative. Stuff about how the musculature of the face works for chewing and how-- y’know, I won’t go into detail.

The next time I opened the book, I couldn’t fool myself. The man’s eyes were open a little wider. Every time I pulled the book down from its shelf and displayed its contents to the world, the man’s eyes would open even wider. One day they were so wide that his eyelids pulled back into his head, jutting forth his eyeballs so I could see just how round and veined they were. The worst was his pupils. They were fixed directly on me.

I put the book back on the shelf, trying to hide away the horrors like I’d done so many times, but as soon as I set it down, the book started to twitch. Then it leapt up, the pages turning back open to that drawing. The man was gone. Behind me, I could hear a wet, slapping sound and a voice wheezed from the darkness, “Don’t you want to see the insides?”

Let’s just say I didn’t look back when I left that place. I regret that I didn’t burn it down though. Some nights I swear I hear that same fleshy noise, and I have to get up and run.

  
  


* * *

<<HE CLEARS HIS THROAT>>

**ARCHIVIST**

( _voice a little shaky_ ) End recording. ( _beat as he collects himself and continues like normal_ ) Logically speaking, this apparition Apoorva’s seeing is most likely a trauma-induced hallucination. She said at the beginning of her statement that the radio stations she listened to all broadcasted the death and consumption of the hosts, and I know that couldn’t have had a positive effect on the psyche. Add the fact that she was isolated in a basement of a funeral home of all places, and it all adds up to a case of her brain failing to cope with the trauma.

I can’t help but fixate on the fact that this book was a Leitner. There are so many rumors that those books possess some kind of evil, and the fact that there’s an account _here_ in the Archives-- It makes me wonder how many more statements like Apoorva’s there are.

In terms of follow-up, Sasha found a housing request for an Apoorva Murari in 2030, but it was voided because by the time it was approved, Apoorva had already moved on. Martin was actually able to do some decent work this time, and he located the funeral home that Apoorva worked and lived at: Tellison Funeral Homes and Cremation Services. It is located fairly close to the city center in London, like she’d described. 

Martin offered to go investigate it, but I told him I couldn’t risk losing any assistants. If he went, I’d have to make sure someone went with him to keep him alive, someone preferably trained in dealing with hordes of infected since that’s all there _is_ in London. But that’d be way too much paperwork to write up, and I don’t think it’s something Elias would waste the resources on. No matter how enticing learning the secrets of a Leitner book would be… End recording.

<<KNOCKING AT THE DOOR, THE ARCHIVIST CLEARS HIS THROAT>>

**ARCHIVIST**

Come in.

<<DOOR OPENS>>

**MARTIN**

Oh, hey. Have you finished?

**ARCHIVIST**

Yes.

**MARTIN**

( _beat_ ) They’re gone if you-- if you don’t want to go. I could make up some excuse for you. Say there was some archival emergency. Pin it all on Elias; they’d believe me.

<<THE ARCHIVIST HUMS IN MILD AMUSEMENT>>

**ARCHIVIST**

You’d do that?

**MARTIN**

Love those guys to death, but--um, well, the first outing with them is nothing _but_ personal questions. And it can be pretty shocking if you aren’t, like, completely prepared. Like I’m pretty sure they learned more in one night than my therapist ever did in the three years I had her. Pre-apocalypse, obviously.

**ARCHIVIST**

Hmm, yes I can see why they were so enthusiastic to have me out. ( _beat_ ) Would you do that for me? Make some excuse? I was planning on organizing this box of statements--

<<SOUND OF PAPERS SHAKING IN A BOX>>

**ARCHIVIST (CONT’D)**

( _over the sfx_ ) And I’d really rather not get drunk.

**MARTIN**

Yeah, yeah, no worries. I’ll just say Elias looped you into helping him rearrange his office so his filing cabinets would be behind him instead of on either side of him.

**ARCHIVIST**

Thank you. ( _beat_ ) Did he have you do that?

<<MARTIN SIGHS, AND HIS FEET SHUFFLE>>

**MARTIN**

Yeah. And he spent the whole time just… watching me.

**ARCHIVIST**

I can file an anonymous sexual harassment form on your behalf.

**MARTIN**

( _laughing a little_ ) No, no, it wasn’t like that! It was-- I don’t know. Just weird. Not that kind of weird, I don't think. ( _beat_ ) I better head out. They’re expecting me.

**ARCHIVIST**

Right, right, of course. Have fun.

**MARTIN**

You too.

<<FOOTSTEPS RECEDE, DOOR CLOSES, THE ARCHIVIST SIGHS AND A MOMENT PASSES BEFORE THE SOUND OF FOOTSTEPS ARE HEARD AGAIN AND THE DOOR OPENS>>

**ARCHIVIST**

Actually, Martin, wait up. 

**MARTIN**

( _from a distance_ ) Oh! Okay!

<<FOOTSTEPS COME BACK BEFORE THE TAPE RECORDER CLICKS OFF>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Anatomia humani corporis" was a real medical book written by Govard Bidloo and illustrated by Gerard de Lairesse. The images I describe are based off real drawings in it, and I do NOT recommend looking it up unless you are absolutely certain you can handle extreme and graphic body horror. I myself have a pretty strong stomach when it comes to these kinds of things, but the images that de Lairesse drew were so graphic and realistic that I felt extremely nauseous. If you can stomach it though, they are an interesting take at anatomy from an artistic perspective rather than at a purely scientific one.
> 
> On a different note, I think I'm going to make this Jonmartimsasha because I love the chemistry they all have.


	4. Spasms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Statement of Timothy Hodge, regarding a… an evening with his girlfriend. Original statement given January 10th, 2034. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Settlement.
> 
> ~~~
> 
> Trigger Warnings: Worms, Unsanitary, Filth, Self Harm, Blood, Weapons, Trypophobia

<DOOR SHUTS, FOOTSTEPS APPROACH>>

**ARCHIVIST**

Tim, can you _please_ sit in the chair.

**TIM**

I know for a _fact_ that you got that chair from the break room and I know for a _fact_ that it’s broken. So either I sit on the desk or I sit on the floor, and it’s _much_ comfier up here by you.

<<CHAIR SCRAPING, ARCHIVIST CLEARS THROAT>>

**ARCHIVIST**

Here then, you can use mine for now. I’ll just… stand. Here.

**MARTIN**

Why--what is this meeting all about?

**SASHA**

Yeah, I thought weekly meetings were held with Elias in the conference room. Plus not like… An hour before work even starts.

**TIM**

( _laughing a little_ ) And why the tape recorder? Is this some kind of reprimand you want filed away?

**ARCHIVIST**

I gathered you here this morning to set things clear before our meeting with Elias. Our post-work drinks on Friday were inappropriate for me to attend. As your superior, I should not have agreed to become inebriated with you all, my employees. The things I said while under the influence were unprofessional, and I apologize for everything I did, I take full responsibility. The next time you three go out for drinks, I will not attend.

**TIM**

( _disappointed_ ) So it _is_ a reprimand.

**ARCHIVIST**

More for myself than you three. How I behaved was _completely_ inappropriate.

**SASHA**

Umm… What made you think you were inappropriate?

**ARCHIVIST**

As your boss, I need to hold myself to a certain caliber--

**TIM**

So you think rambling about how cute your pre-apocalypse cat was _bad_? What was his name… Sergeant? Baron? Captain?

**MARTIN**

Admiral!

**ARCHIVIST**

_The_ Admiral. ( _beat_ ) I get that being friendly is fun, but I _am_ your boss. You three can have as much fun as you want and make all the plans as you please, but keep me out. In fact, if you’re planning on going out at all, I’d prefer you discuss it either after work or on break. Prevents _any_ chance that I could even cross that line.

**SASHA**

Are there any actual rules that say you can’t be friends with us?

**ARCHIVIST**

Elias’s Archival Handbook says I have to set a clear boundary between boss and employee.

**TIM**

“Elias’s Archival Handbook”? Did Elias really write a handbook for an apocalyptic archival role?

**ARCHIVIST**

I mean, technically he wasn’t the _only_ one who wrote it, he co wrote it with some guy named Peter Lukas. And even though we are in a world filled with zombies, this is still a job. We really should follow Elias’s rules. I mean, you don’t see him down here getting all chummy with us.

**MARTIN**

What about when he barged in on our birthday party for Sasha? Wasn’t that crossing a line?

**TIM**

He confiscated her cake all for himself even though it had taken me _months_ to scrounge up enough honey for it. God, and it took even _longer_ to come up with a good recipe for it.

**MARTIN**

We invited you, not him.

**TIM**

We should file a harassment form about that!

**SASHA**

Yeah, I think that was _way_ more inappropriate than any of the silly things you said last night.

**ARCHIVIST**

I get your point, guys. ( _beat_ ) I still don’t think it’s appropriate.

**TIM**

Screw appropriate, it’s the apocalypse, baby! Why do we still have to run by old world rules? I was just telling them that--

**SASHA**

Tim.

<<TIM GRUMBLES, BUT IS QUIET>>

**MARTIN**

( _with growing excitement_ ) We had a blast, y’know. And we hang out just about every Friday, not always drinks sometimes like sometimes board games or baking or whatever comes to mind, so if you--

**ARCHIVIST**

( _sternly_ ) I think you all should get to work.

**MARTIN**

( _quiet_ ) Right.

<<CHAIRS SCRAPE, FOOTSTEPS RECEDE, DOOR CLOSES>>

**ARCHIVIST**

( _quiet, saddened)_ They look so wounded; I didn’t think they would be that hurt. It’s been a long time, a _real_ long time, since anyone’s ever truly wanted me around. Not just for whatever use I brought, but for just being… me. I should-- ( _beat, then sternly_ ) Irregardless, I have stopped all post-work socialization that are not in direct correspondence to any work related tasks in accordance to the Archival Handbook. I will make sure to file this recording into my personal file in the Archives. End recording.

<<TAPE CLICKS OFF. THERE IS A MOMENT BEFORE THE TAPE CLICKS BACK ON.>>

**ARCHIVIST**

Statement of Timothy Hodge, regarding a… an evening with his girlfriend. Original statement given January 10th, 2034. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Settlement.

Statement begins.

* * *

**ARCHIVIST (STATEMENT)**

Let’s get things clear first and foremost: I did _not_ have sex with a zombie. She wasn’t a zombie before, and she wasn’t during, and well-- I mean, at the very end I don’t know _what_ she was but at that point it was basically post-coital. 

Harriet and I met at the very beginning of the Outbreak; we were drinking at the same campus bar, the Dogstar? I guess it doesn’t matter how familiar you are with the bar, but you have to know that us being able to escape and survive that first night was a task unlike any other. The sheer number of dismembered bodies we saw… Everyone’s seen it, we’re all survivors. I don’t have to describe the atrocities Harriet and I survived. But it bonded us, tied us to each other.

And Harriet was wonderful. And confident. And frustrating. And so creative. I mean, you should have seen how she decorated that bike we found a year after the Outbreak. Our relationship was a little rocky sometimes, a lot of on and off periods. I wanted to settle somewhere, maybe try starting a family once a proper settlement was founded, and she wanted to stay on the run. And a lifestyle like that, she thought it was better with fewer strings attached. So sometimes I got left behind. But that didn’t stop her from coming back, and it didn’t stop me from loving her.

We’d been settled here in Magnus for about maybe three years, and I’d really thought that she’d finally shaken off her old fears. Of course, that wasn’t true. I was still asleep in bed when Harriet slipped out of our home and ran off into the night a couple months ago. I won’t lie, it hurt. But two days ago, she returned. Usually she’s gone for at least half a year, so seeing her was quite the shock.

There was a different energy about her when she came home. We’d gotten into a routine so that when she did come back, we would hug and then I’d make dinner and we’d settle for an evening of us telling each other what we’d been up to while apart. Pretending it was normal helped us from getting angry at each other.

But when she came back that night, she didn’t even acknowledge I was there. All she did was march in and start rearranging the furniture so it was stacked in front of the door. I tried to stop her and ask her what was wrong, but she just demanded that I help her. Started mumbling about some hole or some woman, I couldn’t really make it out. I got mad. Yelled at her that she couldn’t just come back and mess up my shit without any explanation. And she ignored me, so I just settled in the kitchen, stewing in my angry silence as the crashes rang out from her dash to cover the door.

When things had finally quieted down, I went to check on her and she stood in the middle of the empty floor, scratching her forearm until the skin peeled off and blood dripped down onto the hardwood floor. I rushed to her and guided her to the bathroom, quickly bandaging the wound up and begging her to tell me what had happened.

Apparently she’d been trying to find a spot to camp out for the night in some old apartment complex in London. There were ten floors and an attic. Harriet inspected every flat and decided to settle in a studio on the topmost floor. She liked seeing all the places anyone could attack her from. Once all cozy in her cot, she noticed directly above was what seemed to be a water stain. It was dark and not that large, but as she stared at it, a drop of some putrid liquid fell right beside her face. She leapt up, disgusted by the foul-smelling substance. Then it started to squirm. It wasn’t a liquid, it was some silver worm. The creature inched towards her, so she rushed out into the hall. She wasn’t going to risk getting any bug bites that might infect.

In the hall, Harriet noticed that the latch for the attic was open, the ladder pulled all the way out. Someone must have been pouring some foul mix of worms and rot onto the ceiling, probably to scare her away. So, Harriet pulled out her machete and climbed the ladder, constantly flipping her head back and forth to keep an eye out for her enemy. 

When she spotted the woman, she didn’t seem a threat. She sat in a hunch, wearing a tight red dress and coughing. And when Harriet called to her from across the attic, threatening her with the machete, the woman turned her head and stared at her with dozens of holes in her face and--and her eyes were just… Those worms they seemed to wriggle out of every pore on her. And then she smiled, and even more fell from between her rotted teeth.

Harriet wasn’t quite clear on what happened next; they got into a tussle and she cut the woman’s arm and thousands of worms streamed out. The sudden surge of worms was enough to send the woman backwards through an open window, and when Harriet had gone to follow her, she was gone.

She left the building right after, leaving her now soaked equipment in the studio. But after turning every corner, she swore she could see that woman, just out of sight. Coming home seemed the safest option. After she told me all this, I took her in my arms and promised I would protect her. Then she kissed me and, well, one thing led to another and we were having sex. Just as she was about to, y’know, I gripped the back of her thigh and found that my thumb pressed into some flesh that just… gave way. I started to tell her about it, but she looked confused. She reached her hand down and touched where I had indicated, and her eyes widened in shock. Suddenly, she spasmed, and bumps started moving out across her body. Her hands tried to follow them and scratch at her skin and she was bleeding everywhere and--

I tried to hold her down to keep her from hurting herself but she--

I was _covered_ in those silver worms and that disgusting liquid, and the doctor was very helpful and kind and said I was fine, but I still scrubbed at my skin for hours to get that crawling feeling off.

I don’t know what infested her. Or that woman in the attic. I just know that ever since Harriet exploded, I haven’t stopped itching.

* * *

**ARCHIVIST**

Statement ends. There have been many rumors about new variations of zombies. Whatever… infection first made humans want to eat the flesh of others seems to have mutated. Tim spoke with Dr. McCarthy about the statement, and she said that although Timothy Hodge claimed that Harriet Lee had exploded into worms, that there was no evidence in the home that Harriet was there. Even the worms he claimed were in the thousands only seemed to be in the tens according to Dr. McCarthy. Seems like another case of unprocessed post-apocalyptic trauma. Dr. McCarthy seemed interested in the possibility of mutations in the zombie infection, but she didn’t have information to provide regarding any.

Sasha confirmed that Timothy Hodge went missing right after Dr. McCarthy checked him out. I asked Martin to investigate Timothy’s home since it’s been abandoned since his departure, but he hasn’t shown back up to work yet. I didn’t think _he_ would be the kind to lash out after yesterday’s meeting, but I suppose someone who hates working as much as he does would find any excuse to slack off.

<<HE HUFFS, OBVIOUSLY GROUCHY>>

**ARCHIVIST (CONT.)**

<< _incredibly irritated_ >> He didn’t even bother sending in a letter. I had to find out he wasn’t here when I reached for my mug and it was empty. Tim was busy “researching” over lunch with Dr. McCarthy, and Sasha was talking to the security force about Timothy Hodge’s missing status, so I had to make my own tea.

<<HE SIPS AND SMACKS HIS LIPS DISAPPROVINGLY>>

**ARCHIVIST (CONT.)**

I’m going to have to reprimand him when he comes back. End recording.

<<TAPE CLICKS OFF>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had two exams last week, so update was Monday instead of Sunday. Next update should be on Sunday. Also Michael fans, get excited.


	5. Digestion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Statement of Ivana Dulka, regarding an abandoned warehouse. Original statement given June 18, 2021. Audio recording by Sasha James, archival assistant of Jonathan Sims at the Magnus Settlement.
> 
> ~~~
> 
> Trigger Warnings: Digestion, animal surgery mention, mild body horror, zombies, people eaten alive, blood mention, worm mention

**SASHA**

( _talking with a full mouth_ ) Statement of Ivana Dulka, regarding--

**TIM**

Okay, do you _really_ think Jon is going to appreciate you reading a statement while eating?

<<SHE SWALLOWS>>

**SASHA**

( _speaking clearly now_ ) I’m sorry, but _you_ were the one who brought freshly baked scones to the archives. I don’t think Jon would appreciate that.

**TIM**

He wouldn’t appreciate it ‘cause he’s not here. If he was, he’d be going ham on those things.

**SASHA**

Little bit of a dick move to bring scones when only we’re here.

**TIM**

Okay, how was I supposed to know that both Jon and Martin would be out sick today? Am I supposed to check up at everyone’s homes to make sure they’re still ready to march on over to the archives before I even put anything in the oven?

**SASHA**

I suppose not. ( _beat_ ) How do you even keep up your baking addiction? Isn’t the honey like… heavily rationed?

**TIM**

I’ve got a sweet deal with the beekeeper.

**SASHA**

Gross.

**TIM**

Not like that! 

<<THEY LAUGH>>

**TIM (CONT.)**

( _fake pouting_ ) I’m sorry I’m such a hopeless romantic who falls in love with every person I meet. But is it my fault when they love me back?

**SASHA**

I think it is when you use their jobs to your advantage.

**TIM**

Jon thinks my behavior is heroic. Really doing the hard, necessary work for the archives, even if it is just using different partners’ jobs to my advantage.

**SASHA**

Oh, do you ask him what he thinks of your behavior a lot?

**TIM**

I’m always one for compliments. ( _beat_ ) Don’t pretend like you’re innocent on that front! You’re doing a statement now, what, for fun? No, you want Jon to smile and say ( _in an impression of the Archivist_ ) “Hm, yes. Thank you, Sasha, I really do appreciate all that you do for us. You’re so smart and capable. And, I do think I _will_ go out for drinks with you and the guys again because I appreciate you _so_ much.”

**SASHA**

I think you got the first sentence right.

**TIM**

I guess you’re just not as privileged as I am on the compliments front.

**SASHA**

Oh, what’s he complimenting you on?

**TIM**

My charming wit and dazzling personality.

**SASHA**

As if.

**TIM**

You know, I never get this kind of disrespect from Martin.

**SASHA**

No disrespect to your face at least. You don’t even want to know what he says when you’re not around.

**TIM**

Well now I’m curious.

**SASHA**

I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but Martin doesn’t think you have the fattest ass in Magnus.

**TIM**

I don’t know how I can live with this.

**SASHA**

Take your time to grieve. I have to read a statement.

**TIM**

Want me to pick up lunch? Maybe beef shawarma from the new stand that’s open?

**SASHA**

Scones _and_ lunch? You spoil me, Mr. Stoker. 

**TIM**

Anything for Miss James.

<<DOOR CLOSES>>

**SASHA**

Statement of Ivana Dulka, regarding an abandoned warehouse. Original statement given June 18, 2021. Audio recording by Sasha James, archival assistant of Jonathan Sims at the Magnus Settlement.

Statement begins.

* * *

**SASHA (STATEMENT)**

Thank you again for being so accommodating. I know it was weird to open every door for me when I was the one who came to you, and yeah, I really should be opening my own doors. But if you’d seen what I saw, you’d understand. Do you know how much more difficult it is to run from zombies when you can’t open doors? I don’t know how much longer I can live like this, but I might as well give you this statement before I’m eaten or… 

I was traveling that first year with my brother, Darius, and my boyfriend, Manuel. We got along fine, and I mean, you kinda have to. If you’re trying to survive, you have to be cooperative. Darius always seemed upset that he was a third wheel; he was always trying to get Manuel to hang out with him and be his buddy. Manuel tried to be kind and accommodate this by chatting to him about pre-apocalypse stuff, video games or television shows, but it’s not like they were close before the Outbreak. We all only got traveling together because we were the only survivors of the family reunion. It’s not like Manuel and I _tried_ to find him. We were just stuck with him.

Nevertheless, when we got to the old fishing docks-- no, I’m not sure what town. We were up north, maybe Scotland by that point? I don’t know. I was never good with geography, sorry. Those old fishing docks had a few warehouses, and Darius got all excited about the possibility of there being fishing equipment in them so we could get food that way instead of scrounging for cans in the ransacked stores. And yeah, it _was_ a good idea, but he was really getting on my nerves talking about it and rambling about some documentary all on the history of fishing, so I tried to shoot down his suggestion. Manuel actually started to defend Darius, and of course that pissed me off even more and I said--

Actually, I don’t need to detail what insults were thrown, but eventually we split up to search the warehouses. Darius and Manuel searched together whereas I, well, I searched alone. Which, whatever. I was being a dick that day so I get it. But it’s not like that decision worked out well for any of us.

The warehouse looked normal on the outside. It was the usual tan concrete with the large, orange doors for trucks to back in, but those were sealed shut of course. No business after the Outbreak. And there was blackened blood staining some of the outside walls, which isn’t uncommon. The door to the building was completely out of place. It was yellow and it looked like it belonged to a bedroom and not to a fishing warehouse. I figured that the architects just got lazy with the design, and I went ahead and opened it.

What greeted me wasn’t a warehouse, but instead a long, winding hallway. Its walls seemed to pulse a rhythmic beat, and I realized it wasn’t the concrete of the building. It was an organ, like a--a--a stomach. Have you ever gone to one of those university veterinarian days? Well, I went when I was little and there was a cow, a living cow, who had a port in her stomach that you could stick your arm into. And that feeling of that stomach squeezing and pulling on your arm with that warm cud and stomach acid filling the air with a sharp smell-- that feeling of digestion just overwhelmed me.

I turned to leave out the door, but it was gone. Just vanished. Dread filled me as I realized I had to find a different exit. The hall just kept going and going and one second I would think I understood what I was in, and then it would change. I had believed it was the stomach of some beast, and then it would shift into twitching fingers or goosebump covered skin or some other horror I couldn’t even process. I swear, one time it was even the texture of a-- a ham like you’d have at Christmas. 

Suddenly I wasn’t alone in the halls. Ahead of me, a man stood at the end, tall and with yellow curly hair. I called out to him, and as he turned I realized something was wrong. His fingers seemed like they had too much bone; they jutted out too far and seemed to twitch at joints that shouldn’t have existed. His laughter echoed through my head like a tymphany drum but his mouth wouldn’t open. When he moved it just-- I couldn’t make sense of it. His legs… They twisted. Not the way you’re picturing it. They looped around in circles as easy as string and then they would snap forward like a bone was breaking. And then they’d seem completely loose before snapping yet again.

There was only one thing I could think of for a possible escape. I threw myself against the pulsating, meaty walls I had been so afraid of, and I let them consume me. It was like a heavy, wet blanket slowly wrapped around me, and the man tried to grab me with his sharp fingers, but the wall was stronger than he was. It was dark. And warm. And it squeezed and it squeezed, and I knew I was being digested. I could smell the sting of stomach acid, and I squeezed my eyes shut as the nausea overwhelmed me. Then, a cry called out from behind me.

When my eyes snapped open, I was lying on the floor of the warehouse. That cold concrete was such a comfort. I laid a moment longer before the voice, Manuel’s, cried out again. By the time I reached him and Darius, they were being eaten by zombies. They were still alive, but just barely. Of course I ran. Zombies are fast, and if they had noticed me then I would have been just like them.

But ever since, I’ve been followed by that yellow door. It still beats, and it whispers now. It says going in will be easier than staying here. That the not knowing is better than the knowing. And some nights, when I hear the sounds of flesh ripping and teeth gnashing against bone, I can’t help but think maybe--just _maybe_ \-- the door is right.

* * *

**SASHA**

( _exhaling_ ) Statement ends. No follow up on this one. There is no record of a Ivana Dulka, Darius Dulka, or a Manuel who knows either or them living in Magnus. But I suppose if this story is true, that search is rather pointless. _( beat_ ) It does almost sound a comfort. Not knowing anything versus knowing all the horrors happening. Like a… A blind bliss. This statement, according to the notes, was collected by Gertrude Robinson a year after the Outbreak. I’m so used to the idea of people coming to us to give statements. I forget that at one point she actually had to travel around and get people to tell her theirs. Jon’s still pretty new to Magnus, he only moved here when Elias requested him for the role of Head Archivist, but I’ve met Gertrude a couple times. She was--

<<CRACKLE SFX., A DOOR CREAKS OPEN AND SHUTS>>

**SASHA (CONT.)  
**

Oh-- um, hello? This is a private recording session. If you need to give a statement, you really should talk to Rosie. She’s at the front desk.

**MICHAEL**

You know, the Archivist needs those. You’re not doing him a favor reading them.

**SASHA**

Who are-- Oh. Oh no.

**MICHAEL**

Don’t let the fingers scare you! I’m here to help you.

**SASHA**

Like you helped Ivana Dulka?

**MICHAEL**

It was a kindness what I did to her, but I’m not going to eat you if that’s what you’re asking, Sasha.

<<HE LAUGHS>>

**SASHA**

Stop that. How do you know my name?

**MICHAEL**

I’ve been keeping an-- ( _holding back a chuckle_ ) _eye_ on you and these archives for a while now. You’re all very entertaining, you know. Just marching around with your little mortal problems and your little mortal ideas. But you’ve got a big problem now, don’t you?

**SASHA**

What do you mean?

**MICHAEL**

You really should go check up on Martin, although, you _should_ come up with a better plan than the Archivist’s. He’s trapped there with him too now.

**SASHA**

Wh-- They’re stuck at Martin’s?

**MICHAEL**

Oh, yes. I’d help them myself but well, Jane is much more powerful than me now.

**SASHA**

Why are you helping me? I mean you’re like-- like some kind of zombie. You shouldn’t even--

**MICHAEL**

I’m _no_ zombie. Don’t presume to know more than you do. You work with the Archivist; you shouldn’t be making any guesses. ( _beat_ ) Let’s just say I’m helping because I don’t like worms any more than meat.

**SASHA**

I don’t like that answer.

**MICHAEL**

I know, but it’s all you’re getting.

**SASHA**

Could you at least tell me who you are? Or-- I guess-- what you are?

**MICHAEL**

( _hums in amusement_ ) Labels are so definitive. I suppose if you had to, you may call me Michael.

<<DOOR CREAKS OPEN>>

**MICHAEL**

Now, come on. I’ll take you to Martin’s.

**SASHA**

( _nervously_ ) I think I’m just going to wait for Tim and walk over.

**MICHAEL**

Suit yourself. And good luck, it's going to take a lot to fight this fire.

<<HE LAUGHS, THE DOOR CREAKS SHUT, AND THE STATIC FADES OUT>>

**SASHA**

Fuck.

<<TAPE CLICKS OFF>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sasha has the legal right and obligation to say fuck


	6. Stuck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Statement of Martin K. Blackwood, archival assistant at the Magnus Settlement, regarding an unscheduled sick leave. Audio recording direct from source. Date of recording is March 12th, 2034.
> 
> ~
> 
> Trigger Warnings: Trapped, worms, death mention, trypophobia, unsanitary, mold, bug mention, mice mention, fire, zombies

<<SOUND OF SCRAPING>>

**MARTIN**

Here, let me grab that for you. Your hands are full.

**ARCHIVIST**

I assure you I’ve--

<<CRASHING>>

**ARCHIVIST (CONT.)**

( _pride obviously hurt_ ) --Got it.

**MARTIN**

I’ll clean it up. ( _beat_ ) You really don’t have to cook, y’know. This is, um, my flat. I have plenty of canned--

**ARCHIVIST**

( _with unparalleled disgust and vehement_ ) I am _not_ eating any canned _pears_.

**MARTIN**

They’re not that bad. ( _beat_ ) Okay, don’t give me that look. I’m sure your carrot soup is better than canned pears. Why did you just… have its, um, ingredients on hand?

**ARCHIVIST**

I thought you were feigning ill to get back at me for that reprimand, and I figured if I showed up with the supplies then it’d guilt you into returning to work. And, well, you _do_ have a bug. Just not the-- the illness kind.

**MARTIN**

I mean, we both kinda have it now. The two of just… stuck here.

**ARCHIVIST**

Hmm. Yes.

**MARTIN**

You’re recording?

**ARCHIVIST**

I wanted to make sure there was a record of all this in case something--

**MARTIN**

Spooky happens?

**ARCHIVIST**

You know that I don’t--

**MARTIN**

( _overlapping_ ) Like that word, yes, sorry.

**ARCHIVIST**

Although, I must say, it’s been a while since we’ve heard any--

<<THREE RAPT KNOCKS ON THE DOOR>>

**MARTIN**

Won’t let us forget it's there.

**ARCHIVIST**

( _beat, then hushed_ ) You’re not too frightened right?

**MARTIN**

( _baffled_ ) Of course I’m frightened! We are literally trapped in my flat while some _monster_ rots away at my door, waiting to eat us! Who wouldn’t be frightened?

<<FOOTSTEPS SHUFFLING AND PANS BEING MOVED>>

**MARTIN (CONT.)**

I feel like there’s an easier way to do that.

**ARCHIVIST**

Unless you secretly have a generator and a blender, then I _really_ don’t think there is.

<<SCRAPING METAL SPOON AGAINST METAL>>

**ARCHIVIST (CONT.)**

( _hesitant_ ) Do you think you could… give a statement? ( _rushed_ ) I just would really like events prior to now to be known on the record as well, and since we have nothing better to occupy our time with--

**MARTIN**

( _overlapping, just as rushed_ ) Oh, yes, of course. I was planning on asking to do one if we didn’t--

<<LONG PAUSE, CAN STILL HEAR THE SCRAPING OF THE SPOON ON METAL>>

**ARCHIVIST**

It doesn’t have to be anything _too_ formal. Given that it’s technically an incomplete statement.

**MARTIN**

Right. ( _beat_ ) Did you want to…?

**ARCHIVIST**

Oh. Yes.

<<HE CLEARS HIS THROAT>>

**ARCHIVIST**

Statement of Martin K. Blackwood, archival assistant at the Magnus Settlement, regarding an unscheduled sick leave. Audio recording direct from source. Date of recording is March 12th, 2034.

Statement begins.

* * *

**MARTIN**

Um, okay, so I was doing research on the statement of Timothy Hodge for you, with some help from Sasha. She’s real buddy-buddy with Helen Richardson in housing; I think you know her. So I went to the housing office and I asked Helen all about Timothy Hodge’s flat. Where it was located in Magnus, what clean-up they did to it, who was now living in it, the whole nine-yards.

And it turned out that nobody was living in it. In fact, once Timothy was confirmed missing, they cleared out the entire building of people. Elias was apparently concerned about the possibility of Harriet Lee’s worm explosion being some kind of new zombie strain. But that meant that Timothy’s flat was untouched from any investigative hands; it was like a time capsule just waiting to be opened. 

I was already out because of my visit to Helen, and I figured popping over to the building wouldn’t do any harm. I’d wear a face mask in case there were any contagins in the air, but, really, the biggest thing I was concerned about was possible wildlife that had moved in. Feared nothing more than opening the flat and there being like an entire dinner party between rats and cockroaches. Which like, whatever, it’s an unoccupied building so they have every right to live there, but when it’s that many and they start scattering across the floor in a mass, it’s a _little_ bit gross.

The door to the building was locked, and it’s not like I could ask Helen for a key to it with all the biohazard warnings, so I snuck around the back and found a broken window. Thought that some bored teens had just decided to go trespassing. Seemed a comfort that I wasn’t the first person to cross the threshold. So I squeezed through, careful to throw my jacket over the sharp edges, and landed in one of the first floor flats. I went into the hallway and noted that every door had the surnames of whoever was occupying it: Hashemi, Lidel, a couple others I can’t really remember. But there was no Hodge.

I went up the stairs, and seeing the second floor also didn’t bear any Hodge, I ascended the steps one more time. On the third floor I spotted his name on a door at the end of the hall. I was a little out of breath from climbing the stairs, so I should have taken better warning from the obvious signs of danger all around. First of all, there was a dark stain across the hall leading to Timothy’s flat that still seemed a little damp. Then there was the fact that it smelled like-- you know when you’re walking in the woods and you turn over a log and there’s all the rotting wood and decaying leaves? That smell? It seemed to get stronger as I approached the Hodge flat. And there had been light streaming through the windows on the floors below, but here it seemed pitch black. I actually had to turn on a torch.

But, like I said, I was pretty out of breath from the stairs, so I didn’t really pay any attention to the obvious signs. The door opened very easily; it didn’t make even a squeak. The furniture was still misplaced and strewn about from when the biohazard team broke in to get Timothy out, but everything else was untouched. On the stove there was even a pot of old ramen, blue from all the mold it had grown. The bathroom didn’t have anything exciting. I saw a couple spiders and gave them a little wave-- Jon, this is my statement, you can’t interrupt with your complaints about spiders.

There was a small hall to walk down to reach the bedroom, and right before the door there was a picture frame that had fallen from the wall. Inside was a portrait drawing of Timothy Hodge and Harriet Lee, the artist’s signature being that of Harriet’s. And, well-- I don’t want to get _too_ sappy, but it was a really sweet drawing and they looked so in love and it’s not like they were going to miss it so I-- I put it in my pocket. But while I was doing that I accidentally stepped on a little bit of the broken glass on the floor, and there was a deafening crunch.

A voice called out from the bedroom, sounding scratchy from a sore throat, “Who’s there?”

So I answered with my credentials and the voice began to laugh. There was a shuffling, ambling sound moving towards the door, and that’s when I began to notice the worms. They were squeezing underneath the crack in the door, and they were small and silvery, but there was something in the way they inched towards me. I know it sounds silly, but I knew those worms had malicious intent. I started backing away but the bedroom door slowly creaked open. Standing before me now was the man from the picture, Timothy Hodge, or I suppose what used to be him. Holes lined his arms, worms falling from and crawling into them. His eyes, though covered in a yellow film, fixed directly on me. 

The mouth of the thing formerly known as Timothy Hodge opened, and he began to cough. Every hack and heave of his body let out a stream of those silver worms. He tried to speak, but all I could hear was a gargled choking sound between coughs and the fleshy, squishy sound of the worms fighting against his throat.

I turned and ran. Headed straight home. I thought about going to the Archives, but I just really needed the comfort of my bed if I’m honest. I took a shower and then crawled between the sheets and tried to sleep.

It was around seven when I got home, and not nearly an hour later a knock sounded from my door. I thought it was maybe an impromptu visit from Sasha and/or Tim, so I pulled myself out of bed and went to open it. Just before I grasped the handle, I stopped. From underneath the door squirmed a single, silver worm. The person on the other side wasn’t a person. It had to be whatever Timothy Hodge had become.

I smashed the worm, careful not to actually touch it, and then I began shoving as many blankets as I could fit between the bottom of the door and the floor. I stayed up the whole night, keeping sentinel over my home, fearing that if I let my eyes close for just one second, _they_ would find a way in.

And I was trapped alone in here for about three days before you showed up. You tried your best to distract them so I could open my door and leave, but you can’t blame yourself that it didn’t work. We both ended up back in here when the worms and Timothy rushed at us, and, well, here we are. Stuck in the flat until the door is rotted all the way through and we’re eaten alive. Or made into whatever dreadful husk Timothy Hodge is.

* * *

**ARCHIVIST**

Statement ends.

**MARTIN**

We’re going to die in here aren’t we? ( _increasingly getting faster and more frightened_ ) There’s no way that door can hold for much longer. With all that black liquid it's oozing and the way the wood is warping, we probably have only a few hours before that _thing_ and the worms all bust in and--

**ARCHIVIST**

Try the soup.

<<THEY ARE SILENT AS A SPOON HITS THE BOWL AND MARTIN TAKES A SIP>>

**MARTIN**

This is delicious.

**ARCHIVIST**

My grandmother’s recipe.

<<LONG PAUSE, ARCHIVIST SIPS HIS OWN SOUP>>

**MARTIN**

( _quiet)_ I don’t want to die like this.

**ARCHIVIST**

( _equally quiet_ ) I don’t think we get to choose whether or not we do.

<<TAPE CLICKS OFF, PAUSE BEFORE TAPE CLICKS BACK ON>>

<< POUNDING AT DOOR, SOUND OF SHOE SMACKING AGAINST FLOOR>>

**ARCHIVIST**

Damn it, damn it! They’re squeezing in through the cracks! They haven’t bit you, have they?

**MARTIN**

No, they haven’t-- Watch out!

<<SLAM AGAINST FLOOR>>

**MARTIN**

Oh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to push you that hard, it’s just it was coming right for you and--

**ARCHIVIST**

It’s fine, it’s just-- Do you have any weapon that’s better against them than shoes?

**MARTIN**

I mean, I have my guns, but I don’t think they’re effective against worms.

**ARCHIVIST**

( _shocked_ ) You have guns?

**MARTIN**

And you don’t? ( _beat_ ) It’s the _zombie apocalypse_ , Jon, why--

<SMASHING, SPLINTERING OF WOOD>>

**ARCHIVIST**

Damn it! Martin, I--

<<WOOD SMASHES AND SNAP, LOUD HISSING SOUND AND FIRE CRACKLING>>

**TIM**

Okay, way to show off your muscles, Miss James.

**ARCHIVIST**

Sasha, why do you have an axe?! And why is the hallway on fire?!!

**SASHA**

There’s no time, c’mon, before we can’t get through it!

**MARTIN**

Jon don’t forget the--

**ARCHIVIST**

( _sounds closer to recorder_ ) I got it. Let’s go.

<<RECORDER CLICKS OFF>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am planning on the next upload being Sunday 11 October 2020, but I have an exam next week and I'm going to be starting a week-long stay at a professor's house to care for her dogs, so we will see how it goes. I also apologize for the later upload time of this, but I had quite a busy day. Hope your day went well :-)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos greatly appreciated! :-P


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